So the Weasel is away. Gives us a rest from the tiresome little mustela.
But I'm back - fed up with tales of utter shite from the crap hopper. Man in hospital being treated for skin disease, gets daubed in flammable soothing gel. Goes out on the fire escape for a crafty fag. Do I have to tell you the rest of the story ? Twat!
Old tranny, gets the snip on the NHS, after being in the merchant navy and having twenty kids. No I'm not angry about that. What I am angry about is that the said jolly jill tar, or whatever he/she is, now wants the lovely tattoos removed. Nothing wrong with that? Except that the fucker is having the op done (the tattoo op) on the National Health - because - and I love this bit - they are making her depressed. Well in that case Shirley you can go and top yourself or sort out who the fuck you are. But don't ask tax-payers to foot the bill.
Peugeot 306? Come on. It's a crap car. Ask Top Gear. Overpaid motor workers, in Coventry, who recently voted not to work on Fridays. I cannot sleep with the worry of their fate.
Council gardeners somewhere are being asked not to dig near tree trunks in case they sprain their hands on the roots. I am surprised they let them use spades these days, or at least use a less racially charged term, such as "digging tools".
I shall be running in the London Marathon, so look out for me. I am being sponsored, but shall spend the money myself on having a good time.